


Past Tense

by inkandchocolate



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-19
Updated: 2010-05-19
Packaged: 2017-10-09 14:06:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/88274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkandchocolate/pseuds/inkandchocolate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>SPN Nano Shots - prompt: broken</p>
    </blockquote>





	Past Tense

**Author's Note:**

> SPN Nano Shots - prompt: broken

Outside the motel, trucks make their way up and down the highway. Every single one of them makes the same sound, a growl that grows to a rush of wind and then the howl as they pass, vacuum of air pulled through the trees, the neon sign, the cars parked in the lot. Finally there's the patter of dead leaves as they settle again, pattering against the blacktop or skittering across it before lying still.

Sam gives up on counting them. Somewhere around 3:00 am, he decides it is ridiculous to even pretend that he is trying to sleep. He sits up in the bed, glances over at the place Dean should be and grabs the laptop.

The empty bed is so wrong, Sam can't sit and look at it. He turns his back to it and his shoulders hunch up around his ears as he lets his legs hang off the bed. His toes curl against the rough carpet, his face washed out paler than ever in the light of the laptop's glare.

None of his searches turn up anything at all. Nothing he can lose himself in, not a damn thing. His fingers itch to push the send button on the phone, to call Bobby and demand something to go and track down, something to hunt and kill. Something to put Lilith's face on so he can feel just one moment of relief from the emptiness.

His brother is dead, and Sam couldn't save him.

The thought echoes, over and over in his head. Dean is gone, Sam is alone, and there is nothing to make it better. No spell, no chant, no crossroads deal. The demons he summons laugh at him, mocking his pain until he kills them, the knife driven deep.

He hasn't slept for days. Weeks. But his mind hasn't succumbed to that longed-for blur of forgetfulness that insomnia is supposed to bring. Instead, it's brought the clarity of realization that Sam Winchester is alone. And he's never going to have anyone to lay that blame on but himself.

He doesn't even feel the hot wet drop of tears on his hands as they move over the keyboard. He blinks them away, keeps searching for something that will take all this away.

He wishes he could just end it all, but whenever he thinks about that, he hears Dean's voice in his head, telling him that he damn well better not do that stupid shit. He better remember he's a fucking Winchester, and Winchester's do not ever give up the fight.

Sam keeps searching. Not for himself. Not for the family business.

He does it for Dean, and for John, and for the mother he can't remember. He owes it to them. Dean would agree.

-end-


End file.
